Forbidden Fires
by Lucy Hawthorn
Summary: In a world of ignorance and discrimination, an unlikely pair find a love neither of them wanted or expected. They are as different as can be, yet as similar as humanly possible. But will crumbling families, peer pressure, and reputations keep them apart? All they have are each other, and that's the one thing they can't bear to lose. Draco/Ginny.
1. Prologue: Her Grave

**Prologue: Her Grave**

The air was cold and sharp, bitter with winter and swirling with snow. The trees, bare and bent, rattled loudly in the wind and the dark houses that stood on either side of the long, winding street groaned and creaked as though they found it hard to remain upright.

His boots clicked on the icy stone of the road, his cloak billowing around him like an owl's wings and doing nothing to shut out the wind. He knew his face was completely hidden by his hood, which was perfect, because even at fourty-five no one had ever seen Draco Malfoy cry except for one person, and there was no way in Hell he was going to change that now. His eyes were bloodshot, stormy gray against angry pink, and his gaunt white face was tear stained. He was almost ready to face his wife and son, almost. He could see Malfoy Manor looming tall and dark in the distance, the gate shining dully in the frail moonlight. How he wished he could turn and sprint back down the street. God, he didn't want to go back in there. It was bleak and cold, and he couldn't help imagining, every time he saw it, what it would have been like if _she'd_ been his wife, a warm little cottage with happy red-haired babies, with laughter ringing through the air and smiles shining on every face..._Well,_ he thought with a sickening pang shooting throught his stomach, _That was just a silly dream._

He walked slowly up the graceful steps that led to the porch and thanked Merlin the lights in the sitting room were out, signaling that Scorpio had gone to sleep. The ink-black door creaked when he opened it, and he winced as the sound echoed throughout the enormous house. He removed his traveling cloak and stuck it on a peg, still shivering in the chill of his home. His hair was more silver than blonde now, and it was thinning. He was thin himself, too thin, and his face had grim, hard lines carved into it like stone. His skin was a sickly gray shade and it was apparent to every eye that this man was not well.

Wealthy? Extremely. He'd bought Borgin and Burkes and cleaned the place up, it was now the most popular meeting place for pure-bloods on Diagon Alley and collected thousands of Galleons from customers every month. The Malfoy fortune, already one of the largest to date in Gringotts, was now twice the size it had been when he'd first bought the shop eight years ago. Healthy? He was in good shape for a man his age, if a little thin. it wasn't like he was dying. Happy? No. He would never, never be happy again.

A light clicked on as he mounted the white, slick stairs that led to his bedroom and a young voice called "Dad?" Draco sighed, jaw clenching, as Scorpio appeared in his nightshirt. He was thirteen now, and still acted like a six year old when ever Draco was around. Why did he love him so much? It wasn't like Draco cared about the boy. He was an obligation as a Malfoy man, the family lines needed to continue. Scorpio was as platinum blonde as his father, and they shared the same pale face and sharp features, not to mention the stormy eyes. It was like looking into a mirror, looking at a happy, care free Draco.

Scorpio smiled at him, showing his straight white teeth, another feature from his father. "Hi, Dad. Where've you been? Mum's been worried sick!" He cried, bounding down the stairs to hug his father. Malfoy returned it woodenly, eyes blazing with annoyance, and Scorpio looked up at him quizically. "Dad? Have you been crying?" He asked, throughly frightened. He'd never seen his father cry, indeed, he didn't think it was possible. Draco glared coldy at him and the boy shrank back. "Of course not. Get to bed, Scorpio." Scorpio looked hurt and confused, but he nodded and scampered back upstairs to his room. "Draco?" A dull, lifeless purr called from the shadows. His wife, Astoria, stood on the steps, half hidden in the darkness.

Her eyes were a lifeless green, her hair dull blonde. Her face was long and pinched, eyes too large, cheeks too wide, chin much too pointed, lips too thin and always twisted in a smirk. She was a mildly attractive woman, but she had no fire in her and life seemed to just come in black and white, no impressive colors or pictures. If he'd known anything about the woman he'd married, he'd have pitied her greatly for the tragic loss of her entire family to a few Aurors back when she was five when her family had been made of Death Eaters, and how she'd been given to a snooty aunt who had barely known she exsisted. Most of all, he would have seen that she loved him, and pitied her for that most of all.

Astoria didn't display like most women did, with smiles and blushes and kindness and occasionally, with sarcasm, but she made it clear in other ways. She made it clear with soft touches, on his cheek, on his arm, on his chin. She made it clear with devotion, having food ready for him and new robes and cloaks set out for work the next morning. She made it clear by never questioning or demeaning him, by working to make him proud to be her husband. Indeed, she was the perfect pure-blood woman. Hair always clean and brushed and smoothed in a demure bun around her head, clothing always lavish, face always pinched into a kindly yet snooty expression, manners always perfect. She never raised her voice or spoke an unkind word about anyone. She was a servant to him.

But he didn't see any of this. He didn't because he had his own terrible tragedies and couldn't see anyone but _her._ He couldn't speak her name because it felt like stabbing himself in the chest. He couldn't see red hair without remembering how her's had felt in his fingers, or see chestnut brown eyes without remembering how her's had leapt and danced with flame.

"Yes, Astoria?" He asked quietly. She looked him over with her dead eyes and said simply "Come to bed, darling." Then turned and walked back up the stairs. Draco did not reply, but followed her. She never asked where he went when he came home late every Thursday evening. She never questioned him in being faithful, and she never said he had to start coming home earlier.

Because there was an unspoken rule between Astroria and Draco Malfoy, and that was you never asked if you'd been to the graveyard. You didn't need to, really, because you knew they had. And you knew they'd sobbed for hours and contemplated bashing in their head, leaping off a bridge, or drowning themselves, because that was just fact. Even Scorpio knew, and he was spooked and worried by it. But he was a good, desperately loyal boy who loved both parents as only a neglected child could, and he said nothing.

Because life was hell in the Malfoy home, and you just had to except it.


	2. The girl with the hair like Fire

A young boy clutched at his mother's long pale green robes, his white-blond hair glinting in the sunlight, stormy gray eyes wide and awed as he looked around platform 9 3/4. The scarlet Hogwarts Express shone bright and enticing in the cool fall sun, and the platform was crowded with shouting people dressed oddly in long cloaks and robes, pushing trollies and hauling trunks in all directions. Owls hooted unhappily as they were jostled about, cats yowling as people tripped over them, and toads hopping through the throngs of feet, trying desperately not to get squashed. Mothers were kissing their children on the cheeks and tearily saying goodbye, straightening school robes and locating that one damn quill that was so special. Fathers were ruffling hair and helping lift cages and books over the threshold of the train. Younger siblings kicked and screamed, and the cries of "But _why_ can't I go this year?" Never seemed to fade.

His mother was midway through the speech she'd been spouting ever since his letter had come, and Draco was trying desperately to listen, though no part of him wanted to.

"...Now Draco, you listen to your professors and remember don't let the older children bully you. You're a Malfoy and one drop of your blood is purer than a bucket full of theirs. You're lines are as clean as new snow, why, you have generations of pure-blood wizards behind you-" Draco had stopped listening completely, instead focusing on a stray golden Snitch that had escaped from the fingers of a small boy. It's tiny wings glinted in the sunlight, the golden body shining like honey as it flittered through the air like somesort of exotic bird. He wanted nothing more than to catch it. The child who'd released it was now chasing it determindly, crashing through the crowd and earning a few profanities not fit for his young ears. Draco had heard this speech so many times he could recite it perfectly, and there were so many wonders to behold here that wasting time listening to her prattle was a crime he would not commit. Eagerly, he looked around, at the tabby cat with the red eyes that kept scratching the chubby baby in the carriage, and the vials of multi-colored liquids balanced on a a tall girl's books that kept tipping over and exploding into clouds of smoke and sparks. The tawny owl that could twirl a quill in it's talons, and the pygmy puff that kept scurrying up the pants of an old wizard who come to see his grandson off. Or maybe the flashing, fire-colored hair of the little ten year old girl who was tugging on her stout mother's arm, "But I _want_ to go to Hogwarts. Please, oh please!" She cried. She had brown eyes the color of chestnuts, and the palest skin, like paper. Her hair was tomato red, an angry glare in the sunlight. She was dressed in a long sleeved pink dress and was holding a tiny enchanted broomstick in her left hand, looking down at it in agitation as it shook and spit straw, quivering furiously.

"Ginny, no. Next year, dear. Fred! Leave that child alone and give her her Galleon back, and quit selling that pepper powder!" Draco noticed the hoard of red-haired children around her, and the one she'd been yelling at grinned. "Sorry, Mum." He said, handing a petite blonde girl a large golden coin. She stomped off, an angry glare darkening her face. The mother narrowed her eyes at her son and then turned to a boy that looked exactly like him. "George, please srcub that dirt off of Ron's nose, I'm trying to get this stain off of Percy's robe and it won't come off whatever I do. Hurry boys, we'll miss the train!" She snapped. George turned to a gangly, freckled boy and smirked. "Oh, ickle Ronnie has dirt on his nose! Quick, Freddie, help me get it off before he has to board the train!" George laughed. Fred cracked up, and the two chortled in perfect unison. Ron blushed deeply and muttered something Draco couldn't hear.

The eldest boy who's hair was slightly darker than any of his siblings scoffed at the twins. "I'm surprised you two have lasted three years at Hogwarts. Honestly mother, why you haven't disowned them yet is a mystery to me." He said in a haughty voice that made Draco want to kick him. The twins rounded on him, but Draco couldn't her what they were saying.

"Draco, Draco Ignotus Malfoy are you even listening to me?" Narcissa Malfoy exclaimed in irritation, icy blue eyes snapping. She'd been trying to ask him which pair of dress robes to send him at Hogwarts since he hadn't been able to pick at Madam Malkins, and after five minutes of repeating "Black or blue?" She'd finally realized he hadn't been listening. Draco drug his eyes away from the odd family, but too late. Her eyes followed his trail of vision and narrowed when she caught sight of the stout mother surrounded by bickering children. "Weasleys." She hissed before looking down at her bemused son. "Draco, never involve yourself in any way with the likes of the Weasleys. They're blood traitors and no son of Lucious and Narcissa Malfoy would be caught speaking to them. When you're at this school people will be watching you, Draco. They are all curious about our family, we're one of the last of our kind, and they are waiting for us to slip up. You must uphold our family's dignity and reputation, my son." Her voice was hot and loud with passion, and her tight pale face was strained with importance. However, Draco's gray eyes had drifted from her face and settled on the flaming hair of the Weasley girl, and she knew he was no longer listening to her. "Draco!" He looked back up at her in annoyance. "_What?"_ He grumbled. "I have my owl and my books and my wand and my robes, what else?" He shook the cage he was clutching, and the solid black owl inside hooted indignantly. She closed her eyes and sighed. "Draco, do you know what a blood traitor _is_?" She asked. He shook his head. "Sweetheart, their father works in Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, he actually _likes_ those idiots. They believe that muggles and wizards should be equal, instead of wizards gaining their rightful place of power over muggles." She said, face turning crimson with hatred. His eyes grew wide, and he glanced back at the girl with intrigue. "Can I go talk to 'em?" He asked. She grabbed his arm and pulled him twoards the train, muttering angrily.

"Mother! What's wrong?" He asked, dazed. "Draco Malfoy, you must learn the difference between pure blood and dirty blood. Here-" She stuck him by a heavy piggish girl with long mousy hair and beady eyes. She smiled gruesomely, twirling a lock of her hair, her equally large mother smiling widely and rather frighteningly at Narcissa Malfoy. "Miss Malfoy! How good to see you." The woman's dark brown hair was swept up in an unflattering bun, and her brown eyes were small and dull. She wore deep purple robes and her neck and wrists were adorned with golden chains and pearls, and che clasped a purple purse with stubby fingers wrapped in glittering rings. Her lips, large and full, were dark red with lipstick and her cheeks were puce with rouge.

"Carina Parkinson, how good to see you here." Narcissa's eyes crinkled with a plastered-on smile. "And I see you've brought Pansy! Why, she's a beautiful young lady. You must be very proud." The woman's voice was high with false cheerfulness. Carina Parkinson smiled broadly and shoved Pansy twoards Draco. "And young Draco is growing up so handsomely! Narcissa, he looks just like his father. Such good breeding. You can tell he's pure blood." The woman smiled, glancing between Pansy and Draco like they were already reciting wedding vows. Pansy's cheeks pinkened as she stared at him, and he felt extremely bored and rather uncomfortable. He began pulling at his robes in disinterest while his mother and Mrs. Parkinson chattered loudly about some ball that was approaching. Suddenly, someone bumped into him, knocking him to his knees. He turned, standing slowly, ready to shout at who ever'd done it, and saw the little redhead staring at him. "Sorry." She said tearfully, wiping at her eyes with her sleeves. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

Pansy scoffed, placing her hands on her hips. "We don't need apologies from some muggle-lover." She said in an annoyingly prim voice. The girl's cheeks burned, and her eyes turned to stone. "We'll I'm not going to stand here and be taunted by some snobbish pigs." She said loftily, turning on her heel and stomping to her mother's side. Draco glanced up and saw that Narcissa Malfoy was having a tense glaring contest with the red-haired mother, and Carina Parkinson's eyes had narrowed so that they seemed non-exsistent. "Molly." Narcissa said coolly. Molly Weasley nodded curtly. "Narcissa, how good to see you." Her voice was polite, yet strained with anger. The three women were oblivious to the quarreling children. Draco stepped closer to his mother, feeling curious. Suddenly, Narcissa turned to her son abruptly and said "You'll be late, Draco. Go in and find a compartment." Her voice cracked like a whip. He nodded, and Mrs. Parkinson ushered the both of them over the threshold with their things. At the last moment, he turned back to say goodbye, but was lost in a flood of other children who were hurrying onto the train, including the four red haired boys from the platform. Draco sighed and hurried to a compartment, excitement mounting. His gray eyes sparkled with delight and he held his wand tight in his hand, so eager to arrive that it shot golden sparks.

He finally found an empty compartment near the back of the car, and climbed in gratefully. Unfortunately, that girl had followed him and slipped in with two other children, a pug faced boy and a tall, blank-looking boy, both with dark hair. "Draco," She smiled, and he had absolutely no idea how she knew his name. "Petal?" He asked. Her face fell and the boys behind her snickered. "_Pansy,_" She corrected, smoothing her robes. "Right. Who're they?" He asked. She looked taken aback. "You know Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe, I'm sure!" She cried. The names were familiar, and he realized he might have played with them at some gathering a while back. Maybe. "Malfoy." He extended his hand. The boys ignored it and sank into the seat acorss from him. Pansy sat uncomfortably close to him, but even that couldn't dampen his spirits.

The train finally, slowly, started to move, and he waved at his mother, who didn't notice as she was now whispering with Mrs. Parkinson and glancing at Molly Weasley. Draco sullenly with drew his hand, and the last thing he saw before the train pulled out of the station was the glint of long red hair as the little girl chased the train.


	3. Notes from Lucy, and the seat switch

**(Before the Deathly Hallows)**

**Chapter Two: Notes from Lucy.**

"And so, in short, the giant war of 1891 was the last and largest before they went into hiding. Now, _centaur_ wars have continued into the modern age of magic..." Draco had stopped listening to his Histroy of Magic professor and instead stared out the window, his eyes following a cloud as it drifted across the horizon. God, was this lesson boring. They'd spent two months on giant wars, he was pretty sure he knew enough about the big lumbering oafs. Oh wait! But of course they were important! He needed a creature to compare Hermione Granger to. The giants were prettier, and better smelling. There, now he didn't need to keep listening. They had served their purpose.

He felt something brush the hair on his neck and he reached back instinctively , snatching a parchment plane that had been folded delicately just as it was about to roll onto his shoulder. It had _**Draco**_ written in thick black ink on one wing. It was a good thing he sat in the back, or damn professor what-ever-his-name-was would have caught him. Draco opened the plane rather noisily, earning a glare from Ronald Weasley who sat in front of him. The boy's blue eyes were glazed over so he couldn't have been paying attention, but he turned pink with hatred when he saw Draco. "_Keep it down, will you?_" He hissed. "_Pay attention, Weasel._" Draco snarled back. "Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Weasley, is there something you'd like to share with the class?" Their professor asked, raising his brows. Well, at least Draco _thought_ he'd done so, the man was mostly transparent and constantly wore a bored expression, so it was hard to tell. "No, Sir." They both answered in unison.

"Very well then...so as I was saying, the war of '63 was bloody and unusually violent, with the death count as high as eight thousand centaurs and six thousand wizards-" His voice was cut off by a tall girl stumbling into the room, fire-colored hair half brushed and robes rumpled. "Professor! I'm so sorry I overslept and missed breakfast-and-" She was spulttering. The ghost looked rather unimpressed. "Quite alright, Miss Weasley, but you will be staying an extra hour this evening to do the work you missed _last_ time you were late. Oh, and before I forget, we've had to switch your seat. You see, some children were quite too busy expiramenting on their toads to focus on my lecture," His eyes slowly drifted to Crabbe and then to Goyle, and each turned puce on opposite sides of the room. "So you will be sitting next to Mr. Malfoy for the rest of term." He finished sleepily. The girl's eyes narrowed in disgust but she pushed back her long hair and made her way to her seat, frowning slightly. _Fantastic. I get to share with Weaselette._ Draco though bitterly, scooting away from the girl. She didn't even bother trying to hide her contempt as she glared over at him, chestnut eyes glinting. Hadn't he seen eyes like those before?

Draco rolled his own eyes and read the note still lying on his desk.

_Dearest Draco, _

_I was wondering if you'd like to meet in the Slytherin common room after Potions today?_

_**XOXO**_

_Pansy_

He turned around in his seat and saw Pansy Parkinson grinning at him, beady eyes bright and cheeks red. She batted her bristly lashes at him. _No. God, no._ He thought, but pulling out his own parchment and writing:

_Pansy,_

_I have Quidditch._

_Draco_

Then folded it and sent it back to her. Her face fell and as she read, then she crumpled the note, staring ahead desolately. Well, he _did_ have Quidditch.

At one point. A week ago. Before it had rained. But it had been on a Friday, and this was Thursday, so it wasn't so different, he wasn't _really_ lying...okay, yes, he was lying. But the last thing he wanted to do was meet up with Pansy for an hour or two of awkward conversation. Or worse. Much worse.

Suddenly, another plane landed on his desk, folded clumsily on pink parchment. _Malfoy._

Intrigued, he opened the plane and looked down at small, girlish script.

_That was incredibly rude of you. Quit being such a snob._

_Lucy_

He turned and looked around. _Who's Lucy?_ He thought. There wasn't a single Lucy in his class. Bemused, he actually caught himself listening to the professor. "And that, class, is your assignment for the week. Class dismissed." The ghost said dully. There was a loud scuffle and rustle as books were closed, quills tucked away, and parchment folded. Draco grumbled inwardly at missing what the assignment was, but figured Goyle'd tell him later. He began collecting his things, wondering idly what would be served for lunch and if he'd have to do a report. He grabbed his _A History of Magic_ textbook and looked up, realising he was the last one in the room besides the redhead Weasley girl. Didn't he know her name?

She was writing something frantically on a piece of parchment, fiery hair falling into her eyes, brow furrowed in concentration. She shoved it away roughly, and bit her lip as she paused to think. For some reason, it made a thin layer of sweat ooze from his palms.

She stopped abruptly, realizing he was watching her. "_Can I help you?"_ She asked in obvious annoyance, and then blushing faintly at the intensity of his stare. Slightly pink, Malfoy stuttered "Erm, no." And walked briskly from the room. He'd been caught watching a _Weasley._ What was his mother going to say? Thank God Pansy hadn't been there, she would have pounded him into the dirt.

At lunch he must have looked distracted, because Goyle prodded him roughly in the rib. "Whas' wi' with you?" He asked, smirking slightly. Malfoy glared at him and realized that Pansy was watching with red cheeks, grinning. _She thinks I'm upset because I can't come to the common room._ He thought, and choked on his roll with laughter, and making Pansy's face a tad redder. Suddenly his ears picked up a voice he remembered, would always remember. Hatred burned inside of him."...Yes, I'm saying a skrewt would win in a fight against a hippogriff. It has armor like steel!" Harry Potter argued.

"Which hippogriffs can claw through." Ron Weasley countered contemptuously.

"Boys, would you _please_ be quiet? I'm trying to read." Hermione Granger murmured.

"You're _always_ trying to read!" Both boys said in unison. Malfoy turned in time to see the three students sit down next to each other at the Griffindor house table. Harry Potter locked eyes with him and glared angrily for a long, burning moment before beginning to eat, lowering his stare. Weasel started up the conversation again and the two bickered while Hermione made small annoyed noises at them in the back of her throat. Malfoy turned back to his lunch and felt the hot dislike that had been boiling into his stomach cool slightly.

Suddenly, an elated voice cried "Gin!" So loudly that he turned again, startled. A good number of Griffindors were staring at Harry Potter, who was blushing fiercely. Harry's green eyes lit up and he smiled brightly as the Weasley girl slid in next to him. She kissed Harry on the cheek before beginning to chatter with Hermione, and Ron made a gagging noise so that Harry punched him in ths shoulder. For some reason, Malfoy felt a bitter feeling rising in his stomach as he watched the black haired boy stare at Weaselette. God, he looked like he literally wanted to _eat_ her he seemed so happy.

"Malfoy! Whas' wrong?" Goyle demanded, and then following his line of vision, saw the Weasley. "No way!" He exclaimed, drawing attention from a few other Slytherins and two or three smug Griffindors. Crabbe laughed uproarously and Pansy huffed and stood, stomping off, silent angry tears fresh on her cheeks. Malfoy's cheeks pinkened and he shot such a furious glare at Crabbe that the boy shrank back. "I'm finished." He said tartly, shoving his plate forward and stomping off, not noticing the intrigued chestnut eyes that followed him down the hall.


	4. Watching the Knight of Great Hall

**Chapter three: Noticed.**

Ginny's eyes followed Malfoy as he left the Great Hall, and her brow furrowed. He was looking at her? Oh, she was used to boys watching her. That'd been a fact of life since fourth year. But _Malfoy?_ He hated her, he had been taunting, teasing, and picking on her since she'd arrived at Hogwarts-well, that'd been mostly Crabbe and Goyle, but everyone with half a brain knew he was the leader of _that_ pack. But, she realised, eyes widening, that while he'd joined in the laughter and spat a few comments, it wasn't like how he was with the other students. He played cruel tricks on first years(allot of little children lost Galleons and grew warts on their palms), he hexed people for no reason(tentacles sprouting from the cheeks of random kids during class was sort of a ritual now), he was a pompous idiot who tormented muggle-borns and made her brother vomit slugs(kind of), and Ginevra Weasley wasn't going to be caught watching him or being watched by him, and she certainly wasn't going to listen to the catty, girlish whispers coming from both the Slytherin and Griffindor House tables. She drove her eyes back down to her lunch, but they flickered back up involuntarily.

His hair shone like the silver cap of a knight in the candlelight, and he was tall and strong looking, like a noble warrior for a split second, she could imagine him in armor, fighting off an evil dragon just like in the fairy tales she'd loved as a little girl...

"Ginny?" Harry asked curiously. She turned back, smiling nervously. _Keep calm, it's just Harry._ "Yes?" She said nonchalantly. "Whatcha looking at?" He whispered in here ear. He was smiling, and it was the smile only he could acomplish. His entire face lit up, eyes glittering, mouth stretched out wide in a completely goofy grin. She couldn't help smiling back. "Nothing." She answered, picking at her food. He glanced up right at the moment Malfoy left the hall, then put an arm around her protectively. "Don't worry about him, in a few years when we're Aurors he'll be crumbling before us, right along with his Death Eater family." She was frightened at the intensity of his tone, the flashing fury in his eyes, but said nothing. He smiled again and kissed her gently before returning to his "Which monster would kill which monster" Conversation with Ron. She wished they'd talk about Quidditch or something useful, but from the elated tones of their voices they weren't being quiet any time soon. Hermione was watching her with the wise eyes of a cat, a cool look on her face. "What?" Ginny asked defensively. "Nothing." Hermione said, eyes sliding down to the book she was re-re-rereading. Ginny propped up her chin on her arm and stared glumly across the hall, seeing a few Slytherin girls staring at her with vindictive expressions. She childishly stuck out her tongue, making their faces glow with indignation, and then stoof up and stomped out of the Great Hall, ignoring Harry's confused call behind her. However, as she made her way to the common room, she saw Draco talking to Crabbe in a corridor and their eyes locked momentarily before he stepped away and walked off. Her heart beat a little faster for the rest of the day.


	5. Tar in Potions

***Okay, I'm not Mary-Sueing, I totally forgot my pen name was "Lucy" Because I'm just intelligent like that.***

**Chapter Four: Tar in Potions**

"So you're going, aren't you?" Pansy asked breathily on Monday morning as they walked to Potions. Malfoy rolled his eyes and blew his silvery bangs out of his face. The air was chilly and cold, and he wondered if he'd ever see sunshine again, as it had been raining since Saturday afternoon.

"Pansy, I don't know. For the millionth time, I. Don't. Know." He spat, and her face turned puce. He thought absently that she looked like a sunburned pig, and twirled a stray quill in his fingers. "But Draco! Everyone's going. The Yule Ball is special." She said dreamily, brown eyes growing misty as she fiddled with a strand of hair. "Yes, so very very special. Let us rejoice in the spirit of Chirstmas by awkwardly asking people out who wouldn't consider us in a billion years, awkwardly getting turned down, and awkwardly dancing alone before awkwardly crying ourselves to sleep." He said sarcastically, inwardly chuckling at his own wit. Pansy looked hurt. "But Draco..." She mumbled, and he got the feeling this conversation, which had been going on since they'd left the common room, had more meaning to it than he originally believed. And that sort of sickened him. Allot. "Pansy..." He said, and her mouth twisted with desire when he said her name so softly. "I don't really want to go to this damn ball. I already hear about it whenever I turn down a corridor. The girls won't keep quiet about it." He said, recalling a conversation about dresses he'd had to listen to while being stuck behind Lavender Brown and the Patil sisters. It had gone on all through Professor Trelwaney's lesson, and by the end of it he couldn't even remember what it was about.

"Well, I was wondering if...you know...you might want to, er, go with me, maybe?" Pansy stuttered, visably sweating. He flinched. "Um, Pansy, I just said I really don't want to go." They'd reached Potions now, and were right outside Proferssor Snape's dungeon. "Oh Draco! You're so stupid! I bet you'd go with that filthy Weasley girl you were staring at, wouldn't you?" She shouted, bursting through the door. When it swung open, it revealed the bored, angry look of Snape and the twenty or more intrigued or amused faces of the students. Among them, that filthy Weasley girl. Her face burned and the girls sitting behind her giggled and whispered, casting sly glances twoards the back of her head. Draco dropped his eyes to the floor and slunk like a wet cat to his seat, where he'd remain, pink in the face, until the end of the lesson.

Soon he was halfway through brewing Draught of Living Death, an incredibly hard potion with so many ingrediants and measurements that absolutely no student, other than Hermione Granger, could remember any of it. Snape adored throwing it at them at random, and everytime someone broke down into tears or lit themselves on fire. Correction, everytime _Neville_ broke down into tears and everytime _Neville_ lit himself on fire. Draco didn't think he'd ever actually seen the boy with eyebrows since sixth year started.

But this time, something different happened. As he stirred his cauldron and tried to ignore the glares Potter was shooting at him between casting worried glances at the Weasley, who was still very very pink, another piece of pink parchment landed by his foot. He stooped to pick it up when Snape's back was turned, and read it speedily.

_You brewed it too long. It's about to catch fire._

_Lucy_

Sure enough, his cauldron exploded into flames, spewing a substance like smelly tar that splattered all over the room and made Laverder Brown scream. Malfoy jumped back, landing on the weasel's desk, making Ron shove him forward so that he collapsed in front of Snape's feet and onto a pile of goo. "Very good Longbottom immitation, Mister Malfoy. Sadly, I'm teaching _Potions,_ not fireplay. You will have to stay after class and scrub down my classroom _without _magic." He said coolly. Malfoy had to admit, it wasn't as good or as biting as some of Snape's usual comments, but Draco was his favorite student.

The other children laughed wildly until Snape silenced them with a glare, and class ended early because people were starting to faint from the smell. "Wait just a moment, Miss Weasley." Snape said, stopping her at the door and earning a disgusted glance from Potter as he watched her worriedly. "_You_ are staying behind to help Mister Malfoy clean up this sty." He took pleasure in each word, and his eyes danced when her mouth twisted down angrily. "Why? I didn't do anything." She spat. The students who were still gathering their supplies were whispering and chuckling, and to his horror Malfoy saw that Crabbe and Goyle were among them. He scraped at a splash of dried goo on the floor with his shoe.

"For one thing, you've been late eight times this year. I would think, because you are so talented as to have access to sixth year classes even though you're only a fifth year, that you'd treat you're gifts with a little more respect." Snape said dryly. Her eyes flashed like flame but she said nothing, instead taking the mop he held out for her angrily and mopping at the goopy tar for a moment before saying "It's no good, we'll need magic."

Snape smiled humorlessly and said simply "But you heard me, Miss Weasley. No magic." Before sweeping out of the room, followed by the last of the students.

Malfoy watched as she glared after Snape before she turned to him and hissed "This is all you're fault! If you hadn't brewed it so long-"

"So you're Lucy!" He exclaimed, cutting her off. She rolled her eyes and pushed her long red hair from her face. "Congratulations, you've solved the mystery." She said tartly, crossing her arms. In the sunlight, her face glowed paley and her brown eyes were vivid and clear. He found it rather hard to glare at her. _She's a Weasley_, he thought in confusion, _It's only natural to hate her._ God, what would his mother think. What would his _father_ think? Draco shudddered. "What?" She growled at him, "Can't stand to be in a room with a blood traitor?" Her voice was blistering, years of taunting and teasing having made her bitter. He smirked at her, with less difficulty this time. "Actually, Weaselette, yes. And I can smell your poverty from here, I think it's coming from those second-hand textbooks." He said scathingly. Her eyes flickered to her books, still lying on her desk. "Well, why would I want to be here with a snobby, stuck-up pureblood who needs his mummy to wipe his nose and tell him, because his blood comes from wizards and only wizards, he's actually worth something?" Her face was twisted in a vindictive sneer, but unless he was mistaken, tears sparkled in her eyes. Her words cut like a knife, deeper than anyone had ever cut him before. He was about to give a nasty retort when the cauldron started bubbling angrily again. No one had thought to put out the fire that still flickered under it and now the last of the tar, boiling hot, was about to spew all over them.

Right as it exploded into smoke and more thick black goo, he dived in front of the girl and blocked most of the scalding liquid from touching her. She screamed, and he felt burns blazing all over his body as the stuff began to cool rapidly, sticking him to the floor. It had turned to stone in seconds, at the girl stared down at him in horror. "You'-we'com'-blood-trai'or." He coughed through the black paste all over his lips. "Thanks." She said quietly, awestruck. "Wait here, I'll go get Madam Pomfrey." She said quickly before darting from the room. His eyes following her swinging red hair. "Don' worry." He sighed. "I' not go'n 'nywher'." _I'm an idiot._ He thought angrily.


	6. Guilty Thoughts

On the way to Madam Pomfrey's, Ginny Weasley was more confused than ever. He had called her a blood-traitor, but had saved her from scalding potion goo. What was she supposed to think about that? "Hey, Ginny, are you alright?" A Hufflepuff first year asked. She smiled feebly. "Yeah. Get to class." The child nodded, still looking concerned, but scampered off. Ginny sighed. Was it _that_ apparent that she was completely bemused? It must be, because students were looking at her strangely as she walked quicly down the shadow-freckled torchlit corridors, hair flickering in the light and drawing attention to herself. She wished she had plain, mousy hair instead of tomato red. At least she'd be able to creep down the halls without making the whole school stare.

As she made her way down the hall, Dean Thomas called out "Gin, are you okay?" And she had to nod quickly because the same Slytherin girls were in the corridor and before Ginny turned the corner she heard one whisper "Ah, she's love struck." And the other cackle "He would never consider her. Filthy trash, it makes you wonder what the other founders had in mind, allowing _her_ type in this school."

Ginny felt tears prickle at her eyes but kept walking until she reached the brightly lit infirmary that had at least one moaning student every three beds. "Madam Pomfrey?" She asked timidly. The nurse, who was tending to a fifth year who had a flipper instead of an arm, barked "Yes?" Ginny was still near crying, but managed "It's Draco Malfoy. He's-He's had a potion accident down in the dungeon." Madam Pomfrey nodded. "I'll be down right away. Fused to the floor?" She asked mildly. Surprised, Ginny nodded. "Damn Snape. Every single time...surprised it isn't Longbottom." She muttered under her breath. Ginny felt utterly utterly useless, and since she didn't have anymore classes for the day, stalked off to the common room, silently crying.

#************#

She curled up in an overstuffed chair, watching the sun set and the sky turn a bright, bloody red, and wondering if she should have returned to Malfoy. The poor boy was literally, actually fused to a cold dungeon floor, he needed comfort. He also probably had third-degree burns. But what could she do for him? He hated her.

It was nearly dark now, the sky was pale purple with a dark crimson hue on the horizon, pale silver stars gleaming around a slowly rising half moon. It was a lovely, cool night. In the dying light, the common room was filled with shadows and dark corners, and there was no fire lit.

She wondered why the dumb whispering of those stupid Slytherins was bothering her. Because of her popularity, she'd been called awful names and they hadn't even _called_ her anything. She glanced glumly across the room, eyes resting on a huge gold-framed mirror, spotted with age, that hung on the wall. In the low light, her face glowed pale, eyes dark, hair a bloody burgundy in contrast with her skin. But instead of seeing beauty she saw that her upper lip was much to heavy on her lower lip, her jaw was too square and broad(showing her stubborness) her eyes were too large and her thick lashes, which she used to think were a nice feature, made them seem haunting and ghostly, like the eyes on an owl. Her hair was too red, too bright, and too distracting. Her robes were new, but already a little tattered. "_He would never consider her._" The words rang loud in her ears. They were absolutely right, of course. And she would never consider him.

But as she lay, curled like a cat, in the protective arms of her chair, a thought ran through her head that made her freeze, cold with guilt and shock. _But I would consider him._


	7. Infirmary

**Chapter six: Infirmary**

Malfoy was lying in the infirmary in the dead of night, trying not to move. HIs skin was red and blistered, but he would be fine in a few days. Madam Pomfrey was still tending to Alissa, the girl with the flipper, who's hand was slowly turning into an owl talon. It was a good sign according to the nurse, an owl talon meant it was half-healed.

As he stared at the high celing dotted with cobwebs and cracks, he thought about Ginny. He knew her name now, it had been Madam Pomfrey who'd told him how lucky he was the girl'd been with him as she slowly preformed complicated incantations to defuse him from the floor. Yeah, he was lucky she had been there. A tiny knot of affection tied itself firmly around his heart. _She's so pretty when she's bewildered._ He sat bolt upright in bed, eyes wide and bright with shock. Where the _hell_ had that come from? _She's a blood traitor._ He thought, desperately confused. His mother, his father, his friends, God, even his _House_ frowned upon her type. Already Crabbe and Goyle had been in, taunting and teasing at him. They'd gone serious when he hadn't countered with a smirk. "Draco, you can't see a girl like her." Crabbe had said, piggy eyes bright with importance. "You're a pure blood, you can't be seen with her type. She's not worth it. She's not fit to lick our shoes, and frankly, if you decide to get involved with a girl like _her_, me and Greg can't be seen with you." He said seriously. Malfoy had asked them both to leave, because he knew they were right. His mother would smack him for this. His father would completely disown him. _What am I doing_? He thought suddenly, smirking in relief. He wasn't after this Weasley...she just distracted him, that was all.

"I'm sorry, but no visitors after eleven o'clock. And aren't you supposed to be in bed? No students wandering the halls at this hour!" Madam Pomfrey's strong voice echoed throughout the room. Malfoy's ears pricked, and he hated himself violently for the happy little skip in his heart when he realised it was Ginny she was reprimanding. "I-I just wanted to see how he was getting on." Her small voice answered. "He's fine. Badly burned. You can see him tomorrow."

"WAIT!" Malfoy called, waking up Alissa the Human Owl. Madam Pomfrey turned, face tight and indignant. "Mister Malfoy! You are supposed to be asleep!" She yelled. He flushed when he saw Ginny's dark eyes regarding him with great amusement. "Can't-can't we just visit for a moment?" He asked. She sighed, then looked at his silently desperate look and nodded. "Ten minutes. No more." Then she flounced back to Alissa, who was moaning as the talon's claws slowly shifted to almost fingers.

Ginny walked up to him rather shyly. "Hello, Malfoy." She said, sitting in a visiting chair beside him. He smirked at her. "Weaselette." Her mouth twisted but she said nothing. "So why are you visiting me at such an hour? The Griffindor Princess could get knocked off her throne by disobeying the rules so prominently. And over a Slytherin!" He exlaimed, mockingly scandalized. She narrowed her eyes for challenge, like a cat. _A delightfully evil redhaired cat. _He thought at the curl of her pink lips.

"Oh, Hermione is Griffindor Princess and don't tell me any different. And if you didn't want me here, why did you call after me like a lovestruck hippogriff?" She replied tartly. His eyes flickered at the promise of battle in her tone. "Because I'm absolutely miserable because someone allowed me to be coated in tar. I thought that someone should be terribly guilty. And then serve me. For eternity." He spat back, grinning. She smiled warmly, still challenging him. "I couldn't save _you_ from the tar because you saved _me first._ The high-and-mighty Draco Malfoy saves a blood-traitor, oh, it'll be all over the Prophet." She growled.

And then he laughed. Loud and happy, making the sound of his glee echo through the giant room. Ginny winced but chuckled. "You're going to wake up the entire school." She hissed. He stopped laughing abruptly and shifted to face her. She blushed and bit her lip, uncomfortable. He suddenly loathed himself, what the hell was he doing? But at the same time, he hated that the playfulness in her face was gone. "So, how did you escape from Potter long enough to meet me? It looks as though he has you on a leash these days." He asked coldly. Her face went red from anger. "Harry doesn't control me, Malfoy. And for your information, he offered me the invisibility cloak before I left." She said primly. He sneered. "Did you tell him where you were going?" He asked. Her eyes snapped open and boiled black with guilt. "The library." She answered in a whisper. Draco leaned back, satisfied. "So you lied to the Boy-Who-Lived just to visit me. Well, I must say, I am honored." He said sarcastically.

She stood suddenly. "I didn't _lie_, Malfoy. I did go to the library. I needed to pick up a few books." She pointed to a patched blue book bag beside her chair. Malfoy smirked again. "Still, you didn't tell the whole truth, did you?" He whispered snidely. She grabbed her bag and stomped off whithout a word, right when Madam Pomfrey had walked over to say the ten minutes were off. She gave Draco a knowing yet confused look, then turned away.

_Why did I say that?_ He wanted to Crucio himself for being so damn stupid. But still, all the same, he should be rejoicing in the victory of winning an argument. But he wasn't. He was wishing, praying, begging, for her to turn right around and stomp back to her chair so he could mock her even more.

OoO

At midnight, he fell into an angry, fitfull sleep, riddled with images of his disappointed parents and shocked friends. Of his reputation crumbling around him. And then he had a dream of holding her little white hand, and slept peacefully until dawn.

When he woke up, he was happy and content. And staring at a blotchy-faced Pansy Parkinson who yelled, as soon as his stormy eyes flickered open, "WHY ARE YOU SAYING HER NAME IN YOUR SLEEP?" _Great. _Malfoy thought. _All over the Prophet, she'd said? _Maybe that hadn't actually been a joke.


	8. Guilty in the Great Hall

**Chapter Seven**

**G**inny awoke the next day with an acute feeling of guilt. Her dream, which had been of holding hands and doing….other things with Malfoy, had made her all fluttery, and that seriously disgusted and confused her. _Why. Am. I. So. Stupid?_ She thought as she slammed her pillow against her face again and again, clearing the image of his smiling face, happy from her mind. What was wrong with her? Was it some sort of brain tumor?

She'd betrayed Harry, to go see Malfoy in the infirmary at eleven o' clock at night, which could have landed her detention. And Dra-_Malfoy_ she corrected herself(they were _not_ on a first name basis), had pointed it out. Would he tell people? She shuddered even though she was sweating under her quilt. If word got around (and it would like wildfire) and Harry found out, he'd be heartbroken. What if _Ron_ found out? He was weird about her with boys, worse than Fred and George had been. The first person to know anything would be Hermione; she always heard the gossip before anyone else. Ginny though back to that lunch when she'd seemed so suspicious. _God_, what if she knew? Suddenly she realized Hermione slept in the bed next to hers and through the thin curtain could probably see Ginny smashing her face into a pillow. And that usually didn't happen.

Ginny threw off her covers and speedily got dressed in her school robes, raking through her hair with a comb and trying to act natural while staring around the room. The girl's dormitories were exactly like the boy's dormitories, only cleaner and more elegantly shaped in a more feminine fashion. The ceiling swooped upward like the wings of some great stone-gray beast. Curtains, soft lavender colored, divided the beds. The windows were tall and graceful, and most of the light was actually natural. The floors, dark stone, were smooth and polished. Ginny had always loved it in there, but on that chilly morning she was lost in the darkest corners of her mind. She had arranged her hair into a braid and skillfully allowed wisps to fall around her face, framing it.

She had to get out of there before-

"Ginny?" _Damn._

Hermione, already curled up on her bed reading, pushed her reading glasses down her nose to see her better. Ginny fidgeted with her fingers nervously behind her back, but appeared normal and slightly rushed. "Hey, Hermione. What're you reading?" She asked quietly. Hermione settled herself against her pillow and murmured "Hogwarts, a History." She held up a book with a thick golden title and the Hogwarts coat of arms displayed on the brown leather cover, and even though it had been reread at least thirteen times, it was in perfect condition.

"Again?" Ginny joked, genuinely amused. Hermione smirked good-naturedly. "Yes. It's fascinating." She smiled, and then her face grew serious. "Gin, you do know what time it is?" She asked. Ginny hung her head in defeat. "I'm late again, aren't I?" She asked in exasperation. Hermione nodded, and Ginny flew out the door. Hermione's narrowed eyes followed her, not fooled by her little act. She'd murmured "Draco" Six times in the night. Hermione had to end her obsession with him, for Harry's sake.

OoO

"Late again. Very well. To your seat."

Ginny nodded to her professor and walked briskly to her seat, weakly returning Harry's grin and glaring at Malfoy's knowing sneer. She took her place next to him, and he immediately slipped her a crisply folded note.

_**Ginger,**_

**When are you going to tell Potter about this? For the love of God, let me do it! Pretty please?**

**Malfoy**

She stared furiously at him and he merely shrugged, smirking. She scribbled back a furious reply.

_What the hell are you going to do if this gets intercepted, Malfoy? All your Slytherins will know you've been (gasp!) Speaking to a blood-traitor!_

_Ginger_

She passed it back. He read it; his face contorting into a grimace, then crumbled the parchment and stuck it in his bag. Ginny tried to ignore the two scalding stares training on her head, that of Pansy Parkinson and that of Hermione Granger, who definitely knew something. Ginny lay her head down on her desk. Suddenly, a voice whispered to her, barely audible: "Kill them all." And then Malfoy straightened and continued not listening to the lecture. She smiled slightly, holding back a giggle.

OoO

At lunch in the Great Hall, the sky was a dreary, dull gray. Eating was sluggish and the usual chattering was low and quiet, as though a gloomy spell hung over the students. Ginny swore she could taste rain, and an odd, anxious knot curled in her stomach.

Harry put his arm around her at their spot at Griffindor House table and asked quietly "Okay?" His green eyes were piercing.

She nodded and kissed him gently, but he still looked worried. "SO GREAT GAME LAST WEEK, HARRY!" Ron said loudly. Ginny shrugged away from her boyfriend and narrowed her eyes at her brother, whose face was grim and stony. Hermione tutted at him from behind her ever present book. Harry smiled, abashed, at his friend. "You weren't bad yourself, Ron!" He said, and the two began a long and droning conversation that even Quidditch-savy Ginny couldn't follow. She picked at her food, looking around dismally. Everything was so quiet, it made her want to scream. Would Hermione stop staring at her? It made her want to slap her. From the girl's stubborn expression, she was on the verge of a rant. Excellent.

"Harry's a good person, Ginny. Better than allot of people." Hermione said suddenly, leaning forward and letting her book fall into her lunch. Startled slightly, Ginny looked up at her. Her friend's brown eyes were blazing with pity and anger. The boys hadn't noticed, they were talking about some fancy move that Ginny knew none of them would ever accomplish.

"Yeah, Hermione, I know." She said a bit defensively. "I'm dating him, remember? Did you I don't know my own boyfriend?" Ginny didn't mean for her voice to be so defensive, or so loud. The Slytherin girls, which looked exactly the same with their sharp elfish features and long black hair, light brown eyes and snooty expressions, smirked at her and then began whispering.

Hermione spotted them, then flushed slightly and nodded, returning to her book with an unsatisfied frown on her face. Ginny bit her lip, feeling herself go red.

But still, she felt fear claw violently at her heart. Hermione knew. She knew and now she was going to unintentionally raise hell. She was good at being subtle with some things, but if it involved one of her best friends, especially in a situation like this, she would soon flat out corner her in a hallway. Right now, she could still feel Hermione watching her, and could almost hear the cogs of her brain whirring. She glanced up, only to lock eyes with Draco Malfoy at the Slytherin table. He looked down quickly, and she flushed again.

Hermione's stare became even more intense and Ginny swore she had holes being burned into her cheek.


	9. Tear speckled parchment

**Chapter eight: Tear-speckled parchment.**

When he dropped his eyes, he wished he hadn't even glanced up, because the cascades of murmurings and stares that were directed twoards him had only escalated in volume. But he'd had to look at her, over there with Potter, trying to look normal, pretty red hair glinting dully in the gray light from the ceiling. Why did Harry get everything? He got the fame, he got the fortune, he got the bravery, and now he's sunk his talons into the girl.

_But_, Malfoy comforted himself slightly,_ he doesn't pay much attention to her._ You could see she was unhappy if you were twenty miles away, and he was too absorbed in his quidditch to care. Granger had noticed, he could tell from that scorching stare, and he hoped she wouldn't make a scene in the Great Hall. _Fat chance._ He thought bitterly.

His House had noticed his little problem, first from the fact he no longer participated in conversations because he was too busy staring, and second because Pansy Parkinson had stormed from the infirmary and vented vehemently to her friends, who then told Crabbe and Goyle, who then passed it on. They were, right now, sitting on the far end of the table, strictly ignoring him. Pansy was sitting with them, eyes red and puffy from crying.

The teasing had been unbearable, and he had actually earned a gash on his chin from a spar with a snarky Hufflepuff. Professor Flitwick, who'd been teaching the lesson that had turned into the brawl, had taken pity on Malfoy and had let him get off scot-free. It was a small glimmer of sunlight on an otherwise cloudy day.

He was called names, he was laughed at, people openly teased him. Food was being chucked at his head, and he was about to attack the first year who was doing it. Girls were huddled together whispering, and every now and again someone would call "Enjoying the view, Malfoy?" And then burst into laughter. The only thing keeping him from hexing every sly-faced Slytherin in sight was the fact that she was always around, and always looking at him. In the corridors, she'd glance at him for a moment when he was surrounded by teasing and name-calling, by people snubbing him and tripping him, and something in her pitiful brown eyes would soothe him.

Strangely, most of the Griffindors hadn't noticed, but probably because of the upcoming Quidditch match. He had practice for that tomorrow...

He shoved his plate away, feeling throughly gloomy. As he rose to his feet, a mocking voice called " 'Ey, Malfoy, you off to visit you're dirty little whore?" Malfoy's fury broke, broke in a bout of flames that seemed to burn deep in his gray eyes. He turned and glared at the boy who'd insulted him, but the student merely smirked at him. "I'm not scared of a muggle-lover." The boy sneered. Malfoy clenched his fist around his wand, and it shot rainbow sparks. The boy looked slightly anxious: Malfoy was an excellant dueler. "Take it back. Take it all back. NOW!" He shouted, catching the attention of every person in the hall. The boy, who was thin and long-faced with thick dirty-blonde hair and mean, snake like brown eyes merely scoffed at him. "Why should I? Oh, face it Malfoy. You may have had the juice around here last year, but now you're just a nobody, a muggle-loving nobody." He sneered. Malfoy had raised his wand(which was near flames with yellow, green, and red sparks) when a crisp voice called "Mister Malfoy!" And a young woman with the curliest brown hair he'd ever seen marched up to him and shoved a thick piece of parchment in his face.

All he needed was to glance at the letter before realizing it was a letter from his mother, and he knew from the giant spots of runnig ink on the paper that it was spattered in tears.

OoO

He left without a word, slipping off into an empty narrow hallway with only a few low-flamed torches lighting it.

_Draco,_

_You're father has become terribly ill, with what, we don't know. In fact, none of the staff at St. Mungos know either. It's extremely curious, and we think it's a side effect from a back firing hex(that I won't write the name of) that occured a few days prior. But we can't be sure, he's unconcious. He kept swearing he was fine, I listened to him, but he collapsed during dinner. I don't know how long he has, but I think you need to come home for a while._

_Mother_

His father was ill, dying, maybe even dead. And he was worrying about some girl at school. God, what an idiot he was. Well, alright, he was going home no question. He'd run away if he had too, his mother needed him and he had to see his father. A stone had slid into his stomach, he felt like he might throw up. Tears prickled menacingly in the corners of his eyes, and he knew from the rising lump in his throat that he was going to sob.

In the light, his pale face was like paper, sweat beading on his forehead. What was he going to do if his father died? Some one would have to watch after his mother. He'd leave school, yes, that was it. He'd take care of both of them if he had too. He folded the letter and tucked away in his robe, breathing heavily. Tears were beginning to slide down his cheeks. He was shivering, anxiety and grief racking through him.

Tiny steps echoed through the hall, and he raised his wand and turned, light as a cat, twoard the noise. "W-Who's there?" He demanded, his voice quivering. "I'm not afraid to hex you through the wall!" He shouted.

"Draco." Ginny laughed, stepping from the shadows. He caught his breath. She looked like an evil fairy, or an evil princess, or...an evil fairy princess? That was right.

Her hair, long and frighteningly red, hung in sheets around her, smoldering like dying coals. Her eyes, large, long-lashed, and the deepest brown he'd ever seen, glowed with a hungry look he'd never seen on her face before. Her skin, pale as paper, had a faint rosy hue spreading over it. And he noticed her perfect pink lips, curved in a shy smile.

God, he wanted her. But then he remembered his father and guilt crashed down on him. All it took was a pretty girl to distract him from the death of the man who gave him life, what kind of a son was he?

His feeling of warmth drenched with the coldest water, he looked blankly at her. "Ginny." He said flatly. Her brow furrowed slightly at the sound of her name: he'd never used it. "I saw you leave, I wondered if you were okay." She said, stepping closer to him. He could smell her flowery scent. "Fine. Family troubles." He said quietly. She nodded in sympathy. "Is everything alright? Anything major?" She took another step closer. "My dad's sick." He said, fighting off tears again. Shock crossed her face. "Will he be okay? Oh Draco, I'm so sorry-" She caught herself, and at his name Draco shivered.

"He's at St. Mungos. It's...it's really serious. They don't...um...know if he'll live." He was whispering now, and tears were crashing down his cheeks, embarrassing him completely. No one had ever seen him cry. Ginny took his hand, very close now. Her hand was as warm and soft as a baby's, and he felt himself go stiff so as not to chase her off, like she was a frightened dog. "He'll be alright. Don't worry, Draco. I'm sure everything will be alright." Her puppy-brown eyes were giant pools of sincerity...

And she kissed him.

It was like a firework had exploded in his mind, or a nuclear explosion had blown him off of the Earth, because he felt weak and helpless.

Her lips were full and sweet-tasting, and they were gentle against his, almost asking if it was okay for her to be doing this. He responded eagerly, and when the two fell against the wall she pulled back, laughing at him and his breathlessness.

"Draco, calm down. I realize you're very emotional today..." She laughed breathily. He laughed with her, forgetting, for a moment, all of his troubles. She had that effect on him, closing out all of the anger and hurt and pulling out the happiness so that it created a warm bubble around them. He gently ran his fingers down her jaw(wondering how in the hell they'd gotten there) and she smiled, eyes dipping in pleasure.

And then they both realized what they were doing.

She jumped back, he jumped back, and they stared at each other as though they'd both just stumbled across a murder scene.

"I-I have class." Said Ginny hurriedly, smoothing her robes.

"Y-Yeah...?" Draco answered, blushing deeply.

"Um, sorry about your dad Draco-MALFOY! I meant, you know...bye." She stuttered, walking off with her hair bouncing behind her.

He leaned against the wall, feeling all of his troubles smother him again. "Bye." He whispered. He felt the tears prickle again, but he wouldn't cry. He felt two conflicting emotions: Complete desolation and shock because of his father and a full and total happiness from his little...thing with Ginny.

His life couldn't get any worse, or more complicated...

...Could it?


	10. Rumors and Worries

**Chapter Nine: Rumors and Worries**

Ginny was hidden in the back of Divination, head propped on her palms, panic driving through her like ice, freezing her body and making her thoughts race frantically and incoherently. "And, so, considering the theory of the sun's explosion to occur in 2027, what happens when Jupitor aligns with Mars during the Thunder Moon?" Professor Trelwaney asked in her mystical voice, giant eyes popping out of her skull as they swept the room. "Miss Weasley? Do you know what happens if this occurs?" She asked silkily. Ginny hadn't been paying attention, and when she looked up it took her a minute to remember where she was. She glanced around at the hot, dim Astronomy tower, with the glowing orbs and old, wethered books standing in piles all about the room.

"Miss Weasely?" Trelwaney asked again, slightly crisp. Professor Trelwaney had been aspecially interested in Ginny ever since she'd started dating Harry, and whenever the woman saw them together shen gave Ginny a look of utmost sympathy.

"Er...Death and destruction?" She asked. That was the most common answer. Professor Trelwaney nodded, making odd sweeping hand gestures around herself. "Yes...yes very good, Miss Weasley. Perhaps we share The Sight..." Ginny shuddered as the woman turned away, her great many necklaces and scarves trailing and jingling behind her.

Harry turned in his seat, a worried expression on his face, and mouthed "Okay?" At her. She nodded, keeping her face hidden so that she wouldn't give herself away. He'd been doing that every few minutes since the lesson started, a mixture of pity and protectiveness on his face each time. Ginny was supposed to be working on a star chart and listening to Trelwaney babble about Jupitor, but she felt Draco's eyes on the back of her head, and could almost see his smirk.

She was lucky to be allowed into sixth year classes, her grades and performance in most of her studies had been so good that she'd been allowed access to the classes above her, of course, if she wanted them. She had(more time with Harry) And had gladly accepted, though it meant more homework and more studying.

Now she wished she were back with the fifth years, out of the sight of the stormy eyes.

Life after her little excursion to the infirmary had been walking on eggshells, made worse now by this damn kiss, because she didn't know how much longer she could keep lying. It was eating at her every second of every day.

None of the Griffindors, thank God, had really believed any of the Slytherin rumors. The Slytherins were famous for making up lies and tricks about popular Griffindors, and a scandal between Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy with Harry Potter as victem of adultry was juicy gossip, but extremely far-fetched.

Harry and Ron had both heard the rumors themselves, and a few Slytherin girls had openly shouted them at the boys during lunch, but again neither believed it. Ron actually was in detention for brutally hexing one young man at the moment(his face would never be the same), and Harry had gotten off because his spell simply hadn't been cast yet. He was still fuming, Ginny could tell. He was hunched over his star chart, black hair even more untidy than usual because he kept running his hand through it in agitation. His quill made loud scritching noises and from his exasperated groans she knew it kept ripping through the parchment.

Hermione hadn't defended her, even after a few Slytherin boys had called her a whore in the hallway and she'd had to hold Harry back. "I can't let this go on!" He'd yelled, and she'd soothed him with "Don't give them anymore amunition." Ron had nearly chased after the boys and Hermione had had to(almost unwillingly) keep him from attacking while he screamed profanities and grew very red in the face. It was no surprise he had detention for the next week, Ginny was actually impressed that he'd survived as long as he had.

Yes indeed, Hermione had actually narrowed her eyes and given Ginny a very knowing look that thankfully both boys missed. Hermione had been a great nuisance the past few days, always complimenting Harry or leaving abruptly so they could be alone together. Sublty wasn't her specialty.

"Five minutes!" Professor Trelwaney barked, snapping Ginny back into the present. She looked down at her chart, and found that only two questions had been filled in. She quickly shoved her problems from her mind and began to write furiously.

To her credit, it wasn't her own problems that distracted her from filling in answers, it was Draco's. She had never even imagined that Draco Malfoy, Slytherin prince and gang leader, owned tear ducts, much less _feelings._ But he had been sobbing like an infant in that corridor, and his father, even if he was a known Death Eater, was dying. That was another problem with this...thing. She was with a servant of the Dark Lord.

_No. I'm. Not._ She thought bitterly. She was with humble Griffindor Harry Potter. Who'd she'd cheated on and lied to. She might even kill his reputation with these rumors, not to mention her own. The other Houses in the school already knew of the conflict between Slytherin and Griffindor, and were quite immersed in their own gossip, but nevertheless a few took notice of the gossip.

A couple of Ravenclaw boys had actually stared open mouthed at her in the hallway, their eyes following her every move, as though she intended to whip off her shirt right in front of them. A Hufflepuff had even snubbed her when she'd asked for a spare piece of parchment. Yes, slowly but surely, people were learning the awful truth.

"Time's up! Leave your charts on my desk." Trelwaney called in an uncharacteristic snap. There was a loud clatter as people rose and gathered their papers, collecting quills and textbooks and generally sounding like a hoard of centaurs thundering through the forest; allot of cracking and scuffling and the thudding of feet.

Ginny dropped her paper on Trelwaney's desk, and the woman gave her an odd, prim look, almost staring down her nose at Ginny. "Ahh, Miss Weasley." She said, eyes shifting, quick as butterfly wings, between her and Malfoy. _Oh. Dear. God._ Ginny thought, stepping out of the classroom as though in a dream. _She knows!_ A professor, even one as fake as Trelwaney, believed the rumors. If a professor believed it, how long until everyone did?

Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulder as they made their way to DADA, and she could only look at him in complete guilt. "Is he bothering you?" Harry asked through clenched teeth, nodding twoards Malfoy, who was watching them with a disgusted look as he climbed down the ladder from the tower. Ginny shook her head. "No, Harry." She said quietly. He kissed her cheek. "You know I love you, and you know I hate all of these stupid Slytheins lying about you, but you can't let them get to you, Gin." He said, face growing red with rage. She raised an eyebrow, knowing he was really just reassuring himself. Ginny nodded when he noticed her silence.

"They just want to mess with Harry Potter's girlfriend. Just shut those idiots out." He said, voice crisp with anger. He was speaking more to himself than her, but she nodded once again. "Okay, Harry. I'll try...it's just hard." She whispered, loathing the tears in the corners of her eyes. He kissed her gently, pausing to stare deep into her eyes. She felt the tears prickle again, and the guilt and betrayal rise in her. She wanted to blurt out the truth, but held her tongue. "Gin? Is there something you aren't telling me?" He asked in a concerned whisper. She bit her lip. "C'mon, Ginny. No secrets." He tugged a strand of her red hair playfully, but he looked very worried. "I really am bothered by the rumors. I think Trelwaney believes them." _It isn't a lie._ Ginny thought, and that made it easier to sound truthful. He smiled again. "Who cares what Trelwaney thinks? She's a crazy old hag anyway." He said, almost laughing with relief. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil sent him outraged looks as they passed them. "C'mon, let's get to class. I can win you an O. I did outsmart Lord Voldemort, you know." He said in a booming voice with a large fake smile plastered on his face. She giggle at his very acurate imitation of Gilderoy Lockhart, and he grinned.

_How could I ever betray him? What was I thinking? _ She thought as she looked at his grinning face. But just behind Harry, leaning alone against a wall with his nose in a Quidditch book he obviously wasn't reading, was Draco Malfoy. He glanced up at Ginny, and as their eyes met, he gave her a genuine smile, only half-smirk.

His whole face lit up, handsome and kind, like a shining silver knight. God, he was adorable when he smiled. And his teeth were so white... his eyes so bright. She smiled back.

It was over as soon as it had occured, but Ginny was in an obvious good mood for the rest of the day, and that did not escape the notice of Hermione Granger, who, as always, had a plan.


	11. Death comes Calling

**Chapter Ten: Death comes Calling**

The school was going to let him take a short holiday to be with his father, because it was clear to everyone that Lucius Malfoy was going to die. In the week since Malfoy had gotten the letter, his father had gone from being heavily monitored and deeply unconscious most of the day and, to being in a coma and in critical condition. No one knew what type of dark magic was killing him, but it was very fast acting and every day he grew weaker.

Draco refused to believe there was nothing anyone could do, but he wasn't leaving until Saturday and until then he couldn't be sure how bad everything was. He knew it had to be terrible, because his mother's tawny, graceful owl appeared every day with a large role of runny-inked parchment describing the horrible symptoms of his father's disease, and how every single Healer at St. Mungos was stumped. She had never written to him so often in all his time at Hogwarts, but now he had a stack of letters hidden under his bed. Every night he would take out the oldest letters and reread them, just so he wouldn't have to confront the newest ones. At least in these his mother had hope: now he could feel her desolation behind every word.

Not many people knew his father was dying, at least not many compared to how many people knew he had been muttering about Ginny Weasley in the infirmary. It was ridiculous how the original rumors had been so blown out of proportion, and all his hopes that they would eventually die down and disappear had long been slain.

He had allegedly been talking about running away with her, or marrying her, or taking her away to deliver the baby. The last made him feel so angry that he accidently set his homework on fire when he heard it in the Slytherin common room. Of course, he doused the flames before anyone could notice, but he wouldn't care if they had all broken into laughter; nothing mattered anymore. Worry plagued him day and night, and he couldn't get out of that school fast enough.

The only thing he regretted was leaving Ginny. Though he still feebly lied to himself whenever his feelings grew too strong, he couldn't deny his affection anymore, not after that kiss. He'd notice her in the hallway, glancing up from a book or from just staring at the floor, and their eyes would lock, and for a moment he couldn't breathe. Sometimes he would see a flash of red hair disappear through a doorway, and for an instant he wanted to follow her.

Or he'd bump into her on the stairs, and for a moment her brown eyes would fill everything, and her sweet scent would overwhelm him. For one second, the fact that he'd lost his reputation, his pride, and was very nearly without a father would not be so terrible.

And then she'd look away and disappear again, and he'd be crushed by the smirks of Slytherins that had seen everything. Draco reckoned the only reason no one had done anything worse than mild jinxing and hexing was because they all feared his father, who was a known Death Eater. But soon everyone would know that Lucius Malfoy could no longer storm into the school with his Dark Mark glowing and kill every person that had called his son a muggle-lover.

Sure, the rumors might ease if he stopped watching Ginny Weasley during class, or secretly smiling at her in the halls. But he couldn't stop now that he'd started, because every time she smiled back was like falling into a sea of happiness.

But lately, she'd been ignoring him, eyes set forward, head down, pace quick. And she was always with Potter: she never seemed to leave his side. Draco couldn't very well wink at her when Harry was staring daggers at him, he could only give her a glance. Those quick looks were sometimes the best parts of his day.

"Draco!" A voice broke through his thoughts and he turned in surprise to meet the eyes of Pansy Parkinson. Only then did he notice he was in Quidditch robes and holding his broom, nearly out on the playing field. Pansy's hair was tied back in a ponytail, exposing her pimply forehead, and her little eyes were hard as flint. "I need to talk to you." She hissed. Draco really didn't have time to have a heart-to-heart with Pansy Parkinson, and he set his jaw. He assumed she was spreading the worst rumors just out of sheer bitterness, but sadly he had no proof. "Pansy, I don't have time to talk to you right now. Besides, I'm sure you'll relay everything I've said just now all back to your catty little friends so you can make up stories about it. What will it be this week? Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley are secretly running away to France so they can elope?" The anger that he had been pushing down these past few weeks was beginning to surface. Pansy looked hurt, and her face flushed. "I haven't been talking about you at all, Draco." She said primly, batting tears from her eyes. "I don't like talking about muggle-lovers with my friends; it goes against my own clean blood. And besides, that isn't what I want to talk about. I want to ask you something…" Draco was suddenly all ears, despite the misty rain that was falling now and the cold harsh wind that made his robes billow around him. She seemed very reluctant to say anything, and though he wouldn't admit it, Draco missed the gossip of Slytherin. He used to enjoy it immensely before it all was centered on him.

"Are you going to the ball with the _girl?_ Is that why you won't go with me?" Pansy asked in a whisper, tears spilling down her cheeks. Draco felt an explosion of fury erupt inside of him, and Pansy took a step back at the enraged look on his face. "IS THAT ALL YOU CARE ABOUT?!" He screamed, shaking with anger. "IS THAT ALL ANYONE CARES ABOUT?! DRACO MALFOY AND SOME BLOOD-TRAITOR IN THE INFIRMARY TOGETHER? SOME OF US HAVE REAL PROBLEMS, PANSY! SOME OF US MAY LOSE EVERYTHING! AND ALL ANYONE CARES ABOUT IS SOME STUPID RUMOR!" He was shouting at the top of his lungs, breathing hard, face crimson. Pansy was deathly white, her buggy eyes like small black moons against her pale skin. And then she began to sob. Racking, heaving sobs that shook her whole frame. Draco felt a small trickle of shame find its way into his heart. "Pansy I'm sorry..." He said bluntly, not really sure if he meant it. Still, he reached out gingerly to touch her shoulder. "STAY AWAY FROM ME!" She cried, pulling out her wand and pointing it square between his eyes. She was heaving, tears running down her cheeks, face red and puffy. Her eyes were wild, and he thought for a moment that Azkaban prisoners were probably less terrifying.

"Panse, just let me go…" He used her favorite nickname, a cheap trick, but her hand trembled a bit. "I'm sorry, Panse, I really am." He said, swallowing hard. She looked pretty serious about hexing him. Pansy didn't lower her wand, but the tip drooped, so now she was pointing at his nostrils. "Don't you dare come near me ever again, Draco Malfoy. I never want to see your face again as long as I live!" She sobbed, turning and running away with her fist balled around her wand. Draco took a huge sigh of relief, turned, and came face to face with the Quidditch captain, who he immediately recognized as the snaky-eyed boy in the Great Hall. Behind him stood the entire Quidditch team, all sporting looks ranging from amusement to aggression. The boy sneered at him, brushing back his greasy dirty-blonde bangs.

"I'd leave you too if I knew you were visiting a Weasley in her dorm every night. Tell me, Malfoy, how do you even get in there? I thought only Griffindors knew the password!" The entire team chortled. Draco's fist clenched. He'd left his wand in his school robes, but he could still deck him in the face…

"Who are you, anyway? What happened to Montague?" Draco asked harshly. The boy stopped laughing. "Riley Scrivner at your service. Montague got hit in the head with a stray bludger yesterday while practicing alone, probably from a sneaky Griffindor. They are all jumpy about this match, and aren't afraid to cheat. He can't remember anything, and doesn't speak a word of English, so they've sent 'im off to St. Mungos and he probably won't be coming back to school. But you would know about these scheming Griffindors first-hand, wouldn't you? You probably helped in destroying the poor man's brain." His beady brown eyes burrowed into Draco's. "I would never hurt Montague and I haven't ever been inside the Griffindor common room, nor has any Slytherin. If you're stupid enough to think I've gotten in there, you've probably been hit in the head a few times as well." Draco retorted scathingly. Riley's eyes narrowed, and his lips twisted in a cold, malicious smile. "How's your dad, Draco?"

"_Crucio!"_ Draco screamed. Riley crashed to the ground, screaming and writhing with agony, foaming at the mouth. The entire team jumped back, but Draco remained, almost reveling in the boy's pleading, desperate look as he stared at Draco.

"STOP! _STOP!" _A voice screeched. At first Malfoy thought it was a professor, but then a girl slammed into him. She wrenched his wand from his fingers and flung it aside, then slapped Draco hard across the cheek. His face burned with humiliation and pain, and he didn't dare open his eyes. There was a scuffling as the girl stood, and a gasp as she looked down at Riley. Draco cracked open his eyes, and saw, to his utter disbelief, Ginny Weasley crouched by Riley's side. All of the Slytherins stood in a wide circle around her, none of them even mentioning the fact that a Griffindor had stumbled into their practice.

"Oh, he's unconscious!" She whispered, checking his pulse with shivering fingers. Draco didn't dare move, so he just stayed sprawled on the ground, watching. Ginny gingerly brushed a strand of hair out of Riley's eyes, then turned to Crabbe, who Draco hadn't noticed standing on the far end of the circle. "You! Go get Madam Pomfrey! And do not breathe a word about what happened!" She snapped, sounding so much like her mother that Draco was spooked. Crabbe balled his fists, but one glance at her scorching glare and he turned and began to lumber back to the castle. "You! Go ahead of him, he's moving too slow!" Ginny hissed at Goyle, who had the audacity to mumble "I don't take orders from a blood-traitor." Ginny nearly snarled at him. "Do you want your captain to die from shock? Go! And if you say one word about what curse was used you'd better start sleeping with one eye open, because me and Luna know our way around the castle!" She growled. Goyle turned and sprinted off after Crabbe with surprising speed.

"The rest of you, get away from here and _say nothing_. Madam Hooch must be asleep not to notice anything, so pretend you had practice while she was napping. Go!" Ginny ordered. With a few reproachful glances at the girl and quite a lot of angry mumblings, the rest of the team left without a word. Ginny sank down beside Riley and muttered "He'll be fine until Madam Pomfrey gets here." Then she pulled out her wand and pointed it at Riley's forehead. "_Obliviate._" She whispered. Then she glanced up at Malfoy, and her concerned face changed rapidly into a look of one beyond fury.

She rounded on Draco, eyes gleaming like a hungry lion's. "_Are you mad? You could have gotten sent to Azkaban!"_ She screeched. Draco was awestruck by how beautiful she looked when she was angry, and only vaguely noticed Riley stirring from her shouts. He hoped absently that he wouldn't wake up. "No I wouldn't've." He mumbled, rolling his eyes and rising to his feet. Secretly, he was delighted that she cared. "Why didn't you wipe the memories of the rest of them?" He asked, feeling only slightly worried by the idea of the tattling. Ginny pushed her hair back from her face, still looking angry. "Because that would be a very powerful spell, one that I'm not capable of. And besides, even if they say something about the-" She paused for a moment, blanching, "curse, Riley won't remember anything." She finished. Ginny looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes that had no anger left in them. "Draco, why did you do that? Why _would _you do that?" She asked in a whisper, and for a moment, she was the little first year he'd seen at Flourish and Blotts defending Harry Potter again, a child who had never known evil. He smirked. "He deserved it." Draco said simply.

She stared at him in furious silence, and he shivered fearfully at the incredulous, angry glow in her eyes. But she didn't question him, only began a rant worthy of a howler.

"I can't believe you'd risk your life like this! Malfoy, you are so lucky I snuck into practice-"

"You snuck into practice?" He asked with a smirk. She blushed but seemed unashamed. "Yes, and if I hadn't you would be behind bars!" Ginny yelled. "I'm a Malfoy, we are never put behind bars. Were you coming to see me play, Gin?" He asked, and loved how "Gin" Rolled off his tongue. "I was merely seeing if you were using and illegal tactics in your Quidditch strategy. This is the last match before the one that decides the Quidditch House Cup, you know. Griffindor has to be ready, we can't get sloppy now." She answered smugly, apparently pleased with her answer. It didn't fool him. "You did come to see me play! Tell me, how did Potter react?" He asked mockingly. She flushed furiously. "I don't have to tell Harry everywhere I'm going, Draco. He trusts me." Ginny spat, pushing a strand of crimson hair from her face. Draco rolled his eyes and smirked again. "Then his trust isn't well placed, is it? If only the famous Harry Potter knew that that the love of his life had kissed a Slytherin-" He stopped when he saw her face, which had gone purple with shame. Her eyes filled with tears. Draco didn't think it was possible for Ginny Weasley to cry, and it made him feel an odd mixture of emotions. Guilt for causing the tears to run down her cheeks, shame for feeling guilt, and an overwhelming feeling that he had never experienced before: heartbreak.

If she loved Harry so much that it caused this reaction of reducing _Ginny Weasley_ to tears, what was he?

He was the boy who'd shamed her, who had given her a list of problems she didn't need. He had been a mistake. He would always be just that: a mistake.

He thought that she'd just stayed with Harry to protect her image but now-now he saw the real reason. He knew why she'd been avoiding his eyes and rushing out of rooms all week. She was in love with Harry. Not Draco, but Harry Potter.

Well, that was how it was supposed to be, wasn't it? Famous Harry Potter would get the girl. He had always had her, Draco realized, thinking back to Flourish and Blots when Ginny had defended the boy, and when Harry had saved her from the Chamber of Secrets. In flash, he saw all of the long-forgotten moments he'd noticed her in the past: always with her lovely brown eyes set on the Boy-Who-Lived.

He felt his heart collapse in his chest as he stared at the crying girl in front of him and resisted the urge to hold her. Harry would get to hold her. He would have access to those sweet lips, and her curvy body, and that long red hair. And Draco would get to go St. Mungos to watch is father die.

He turned on his heel and stalked off towards the castle, distantly hearing Madam Pomfrey finally arrive on the scene of the accident and cry "WHAT HAPPENED HERE?" And then begin grilling Ginny about the attack. She was a good liar, but he was soon too far away to hear.

He didn't know where he was going as he stomped across the rocky, grassy castle grounds, sliding between pines and stumbling through brush, completely avoiding all set paths. He didn't want to go back to the castle, he wanted to go anywhere _but_ Hogwarts.

He felt the cold mist begin to drench him, the icy wind freeze him. Now that Ginny was gone, he realized how frigid he was, and for the first time he noticed his violent shivering. His heart felt empty of all emotions.

And then he remembered what he had done, and fell to his knees in the shelter of two tall cedars.

He had just Crucioed a man. He had just _tortured_ someone. Draco felt his insides drain out of his body, and a hollow feeling enveloped him. He hadn't even thought about what he had done to Riley until now, it just felt so…natural. That curse felt right, and honestly, he didn't regret his decision in the slightest. At this realization, Draco vomited, which only made him shiver harder. But he didn't turn back, besides the fact that his robes were soaked and muddy. No, he wasn't going back. He couldn't go back.

His problems seemed overwhelming, and as Draco stared at the cloudy, frosty winter sky, he felt as though the world had fallen in. What could he do? Why was everything so wrong? He noticed crunching footsteps behind him but only vaguely wondered who would want to follow him.

"Get up." A harsh voice said, followed by a strong hand pulling him to his feet. Professor Snape was glaring at him, dark eyes glinting with disgust. "Professor-" Draco started, but Snape silenced him with a sharp look. "Why did you use an Unforgivable Curse on that boy?" Snape asked bluntly. Draco stared at him in shock, how had he seen him? "H-H-How did you know-?" He stuttered. "WHY DID YOU USE THE CRUCIATUS CURSE ON THAT BOY?!" Shouted Snape, shaking Draco by the shoulders. Draco didn't really have the strength to lie. "He-He accused me of being in love with Ginny Weasley." It was partly true, at least. Snape gave him a stony glance, but there was something behind it, pity? Draco bristled at the thought that _Professor Snape_ of all people would feel sorry for him. "What do you care anyway?" Demanded Draco, glaring at the older man full in the face. Fear prickled in his chest as Snape's cold eyes surveyed his pale, grim face. "I _care,_" Said Snape in a deadly whisper, "Because I don't want you tarnishing the name of Slytherin with your antics, Mister Malfoy." He finished. Malfoy's anger swelled. "I can't believe this! You believe those stupid rumors?" He accused, fists clenching. Snape looked unimpressed. "Draco, I've been your professor for six years, and I'm not an idiot otherwise. I can tell you care for her, and so can everyone else." He said silkily. Malfoy clenched his jaw. "You don't know me and you don't know her! How can you accuse me of these things? I never thought you, of all people, would believe some gossiping girls!" Malfoy sneered, wanting to hurt Snape for knowing the truth. Snape's anger smoldered deep in his eyes. "You do not have the authority to make such accusations, Mister Malfoy. And I think you'll find that sometimes the honest truth lives in the most scandalous of rumors. And besides, I wasn't talking about that Weasley girl when I mentioned your behavior." Draco flushed slightly.

Snape continued despite the boy's obvious discomfort."I was talking about torturing that boy which, I feel, is a more pressing issue. Slytherin is already has a dark reputation, I don't need you blackening my House any more than it's already been blackened." He spat, eyes locked on Draco's. "But this isn't why I left the warmth and comfort of my office to track you from the Quidditch field. Your father is dying, and he will be gone any second. We've prepared a Portkey for you." Without another word, Snape turned and started down through the trees, back towards the castle, which was a foggy gray shadow when viewed from the mist. A stone had slid into Draco stomach, and he was finding it increasingly hard to breathe. He followed Snape mechanically, mind whirling, none of his thoughts making sense as he plodded along. Though he was nearly frozen to the bone, he didn't feel the cold anymore.

He only vaguely remembered walking down to Snape's dungeon, passing the other students who were happily bustling about, oblivious to the chaos in his life. Luckily, he never saw Ginny, because if he had he probably would have collapsed into a puddle.

He soon found himself sliding through a trapdoor into a dank, dark room filled with dusty, diery shelves lined with strange jars and vials filled with things like exotic animals encased in strange colored liquids, eyeballs, paws, and things that looked allot like intestines floating around in clear fluid, and other strange, terrible things. The desks pushed against the ragged stone walls were covered in low-burning candles and old, tattered books. Pieces of faded parchment were scattered across the floor and most of the light came from the odd glowing jars of body parts.

On Snape's desk sat an old dusty bottle, and Snape himself sank down into his chair and regarded Draco with a smooth, expressionless face. Draco clutched the bottle, felt a strange backwards jerk in his stomach and sensed the world dissolve and swirl around him, and in a moment he landed hard on his knees on the floor inside of a small, dim room. A platinum blonde woman sat in an uncomfortable metal chair beside a long bed, clutching the frail hand of a silver haired man with a sunken, withered face. The only light came from a small candle in the corner, and it made the tears in his mother's eyes shine bright.  
She was so absorbed in watching her husband that she hadn't noticed Draco on the floor.

"Mother?" He said uncertainly, eyes fixed in horror on his father's sallow face. Narcissa Malfoy's head turned sharply and the tears began to flow freely down her cheeks. "Draco!" She cried, standing and walking over to him. He rose, and the two embraced in a long, tragic hug, both sobbing into each other's shoulders.

Narcissa released her son, staring deep into his gray eyes. "Draco, sweetheart, come see your father-he's-he's been desperate to see you." She whispered with a terribly frail smile. Draco allowed himself to be led to the bedside like a frightened child. "Father?" He squeaked. Lucius Malfoy was even worse looking at him up close. He was so thin that Draco could have wrapped his arms around his father's waist and have his hands grip his own elbows. The man's ribcage was visible through his thin gown, and his silvery hair was unbrushed and ragged. His skin hung off of his frame in folds, and his face was so wrinkled he didn't seem to have lips. A thin crust of vomit residue had dried around where his mouth should have been, and he smelled like sweat and sickness. But the worst thing was the rotten-smelling infected area spreading from his stomach and stretching to his neck. The thin, oozing skin was purple-black and was obviously rotting away, leaking thick, greenish puss mixed with blood that had soaked through his gown and Draco stomach lurched when he spotted a bit of bone through a bit of the disgusting flesh. His father was literally decomposing right before his eyes.

Draco gagged roughly but managed to keep his stomach under control as he gripped his father's thin, wrinkled hand. "Draco…" He breathed, turning glazed gray eyes on his son. Draco's eyes filled with tears. "Father." He mumbled. "You've been gone a long time…" Lucius Malfoy rasped. His mother laid a thin hand on his shoulder. "I'm here now, father. I'm not going anywhere." Draco whispered, tears spilling down his cheeks. Lucius just stared at him, and it took Draco five full minutes to realize the man had died. His mother burst into sobs, but Draco was too stunned to comfort her. His father had been a man of dignity and power, wealth and fame. He had been cool, strong, and unwaveringly calm. And now he was dead and gone.


End file.
